


Hunter and Prey

by CommanderBunnBunn, Kailene, N1ghtshade, NatalieRyan, pandi19, starrylizard, TetrodotoxinB



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Collaboration, Gen, Hurt Angus Macgyver (Macgyver 2016), Hurt Jack Dalton (MacGyver TV 2016), Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 09:49:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28954479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommanderBunnBunn/pseuds/CommanderBunnBunn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kailene/pseuds/Kailene, https://archiveofourown.org/users/N1ghtshade/pseuds/N1ghtshade, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatalieRyan/pseuds/NatalieRyan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandi19/pseuds/pandi19, https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylizard/pseuds/starrylizard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TetrodotoxinB/pseuds/TetrodotoxinB
Summary: Mac and Jack are hurt and on the run. They are the prey. And whoever is hunting them is having fun.
Relationships: The Hunter and the prey
Comments: 8
Kudos: 48





	Hunter and Prey

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a collaboration that got way longer than I think we meant it to; anyone in the group just adding to it when we felt like it. It was a fun, experimental, no pressure way to write. I've tried to pull it all together for posting purposes. Hopefully I haven't messed anything up. - Starrylizard

They move for hours through the forest, steady rain assaulting them, as MacGyver’s limp gets steadily worse. They stop only briefly to tie a pressure bandage, making sure he won’t bleed out there and then, before moving on. It makes Jack more than angry that the sniper had got the drop on them. As a sniper himself, Jack knew there was almost no way to see a properly trained sniper settled in wait, but that didn’t make it any less of an insult. 

When the shot almost missed, going wide so that it only winged MacGyver, Jack thought maybe they were a bad shot. But then the taunting started. “MacGyyyyyver”. The sound rang out in a sing-song voice, their vehicle tyres were blown out, their radios scrambled. He wasn’t a bad shot; he was enjoying the hunt. 

They finally paused and by silent agreement, carefully backtracked in an attempt to obscure their path and take a different direction. They threw together a hasty hide of branches and leaves that was hopefully invisible unless you knew where to look, but certainly anything but sound proof. 

Tucked up against Jack’s chest in the small space, MacGyver’s breathing hitches as his whole body shivers from the cold rain and yet the sheer heat coming off him is suddenly all too obvious. As they sit, listening, MacGyver’s head droops and he groans involuntarily. Jack pulls him closer, a gentle hush sound on his lips.

He cards the fingers of his free hand gently through Macs hair. It’s a tangled mess, leaves and bits of twigs caught in the long, sweaty strands that Jack knew were damp from more than just the exertion of their game of cat and mouse through the forest. 

"Shhhh..." Jack whispers in Mac’s ear. "I know it hurts, brother, but y'gotta be quite for me, 'kay?" 

When no answer came, not even the barest nod from his partner's head, Jack carefully rolls Mac's head to the side to look at him. Two fever bright eyes blink slowly back at him, the blue so pronounced it practically glows in the waning evening light. 

Jack swallows the fear that is clawing its way up his throat. There would be time enough later for him to freak out. Later, after Mac is tucked into the safety of a bed in Phoenix medical drugged to the gills with the good stuff. Now . . . Now Mac needs him calm and in control because there are miles--too many many miles--between them and Jack's goal.

Mac moans again, twisting his body against Jack's hold and Jack grips him tighter. 

"Mac, hey . . ."As he talks he taps his fingers against Mac's cheek as Mac continues to twist, his moans turning to pain filled groans . "Easy, you're safe. It's Jack. You with me? C'mon, man, bring the hamsters back online. Y'with me?" 

Long minutes tick by, Jack marking the time with each rapid beat of his partner's pulse. 

"Yeah . . . yeah, M' here. W'you... always."

Night creeps in around them. The rain stopped about an hour or so ago, and the humidity that lingers seeps into Jack’s clothes. He hates nights like this where the air is so thick it feels like it’s closing in on him. He’s not claustrophobic, but small spaces don’t exactly inspire warm feelings. Of course, from a tactical standpoint the humidity isn’t great either. It dampens the way sound travels, mutes the world, makes Jack’s trained ears nearly useless at detecting threats. 

Mosquitos swarm them by the hundreds and Jack thinks he’d rather be shot than endure the weeks of itching bites that are sure to follow. But as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Mac cries out in his sleep. It’s a wordless shout, fevered and anguished, and Jack feels guilty for even entertaining the thought of switching places, as though Mac isn’t suffering pain rather than indignity. 

Jack runs his fingers through Mac’s hair and lets his nails drag against Mac’s scalp. “Easy, kid. I’m right here. We’re just having a little camping trip, but you gotta be quiet pal.”

Under his hand, Mac shudders and turns his head away from Jack. Mac’s hands fumble at the bandage they hastily tied to his thigh, and even in the dark Jack can see the swelling around the cloth. It’s been long enough that the bleeding has probably stopped, especially now that Mac’s off his bum leg, so Jack decides to chance loosening it. 

But the moment Jack touches the makeshift bandage, Mac screams. Jack clamps his hand over Mac’s mouth.

“Easy, Mac, easy. I know it hurts, bud. I’m just trying to loosen up this stupid tourniquet to ease the pressure. Can you try to stay quiet for me?”

Mac doesn’t respond. His eyes have lost their brightness, now cloudy and unfocused as the fever deepens, and Jack knows he’s just gonna have to do whatever he needs to do without Mac’s permission. He just hopes he can keep Mac quiet in the meantime.

It reminds Jack of that one time they had to run through the woods and Mac was scared out of his mind with Jack hurt and with a concussion. It feels like they are in a parallel universe and Jack will come to it and they'll be on the deck, drinking beers, laughing and joking around. That the most precious thing in the world isn't currently in his arms, shaking with pain and fever, that he isn't trembling against Jack's body. 

Jack might be shivering as well, but he hasn't stopped long enough to try and make it all the way to check himself over. Mac was his first priority always and he knows that once they are in the clear, that Mac, Matty and the Phoenix Med team will try and lecture him about how  _ this is not the way it's supposed to go, Jack _ . Mac returns some of the words Jack always tells him "You take care of you now, Jack. You've earned it." 

It doesn't feel like he's earned it. He is hurting his friend, just twisting and turning on the bandage that must be digging into the wound. He brings Mac pain and hurt and it feels like he could throw up, he is  _ that _ strung out. The silent moans that manage to somehow escape from the hold Jack has over Mac's mouth stab Jack repeatedly in his heart. It isn't supposed to be like this. He should be comforting Mac, not bringing nightmares to the already feverish kid in his arms. 

He whispers nonsense in Mac's ear, trying to ease him up against himself a little bit more. The words are as much for Mac's benefit as they are for Jack's. It's alarming how pliant Mac is, how easily he is moved around.

Jack wants to scream.

"Jus' go on." The whisper startles Jack so much he almost loses his grip on his precious cargo. "Get out of here. Y'r not hurt. He wan's me." 

Jack knows it's the fever talking. But it's still so unnerving that at the core of who he is, Mac believes he's expendable. Jack has known the kid thinks that way for years now, but he'd thought they were making progress. That Mac was learning to see himself as valuable. But it seems like all he learned to do was mask the underlying insecurities to hide them from Jack's view.

"No one is leavin' anyone out here, Mac." Jack says gently. He should probably be working on that bandage, but it feels more important right now to correct Mac's twisted-up self-image. "I am not gonna let some sicko hunt you down like a hurt deer just so I can run off home to safety."

"You shouldn't be stuck lugging me around," Mac whispers as Jack starts on the bandage again. "Jus' gonna die anyway."

The simplistic way Mac says it cuts Jack to the heart. "No, no, where's that coming from?" He asks. "We've survived way worse than this. Remember Liberia? And Sri Lanka? And Cambodia?"

Mac doesn't say anything, just makes a non committal humming sound in his throat. Jack swallows and pulls back the bandage, and then frowns. This doesn't look like any infection he's ever seen. And now that he thinks about it, it's far too soon for infection to set on at all. This . . . the red swelling and the dark streaks radiating from the wound . . . their sniper didn't miss just for the hell of it. He didn't miss at all. Because Jack may not be able to identify exactly what was on that bullet, but clearly, Mac's been poisoned.

To monitor the swelling and pulsating of the area around the wound, Jack rips a larger hole in Mac's pants and can see it's spreading. The jarring force to rip the clothes causes Mac to cry out again. 

Within seconds the sound of a projectile through the brush hits flesh and Jack grabs his own bicep, blood leaking from between his fingers. He breathes slowly through the pain, or maybe he's just trying to keep from losing it. 

His first thought wasn't even about the pain, it was fear - _ if I'm down, who's gonna get Mac to safety? _ Then anger - _ when I get my hands on this asshole _ . Then rationalization - _ if I can get my hands on him, that's our chance to get out of here alive, or at least get Mac out. _

Jack stands, hands up, side stepping out of the cover and relative safety of the tree Mac rests behind "Hey!" Jack yells, more hoarse than he'd expected. "I give. I don't know what game you're playin' here, but you won. I give up, you can take me, just get Mac to safety."

He waits for an answer or a bullet through his chest, but nothing happens, Jack takes it as an indication that they're willing to play along.

The shadows of the trees and brush seem to loom larger, their edges blur into more darkness in the dim moonlight. Jack blinks to sharpen his vision, eyes still trained in the direction the shot came from. Everything remains fuzzy.

The burning in his wound is demanding. Getting shot didn’t used to hurt this much, maybe age really is catching up with him.

And then the world tilts.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Not a normal bullet wound then. Jack staggers slightly, his balance wobbly.

A branch snaps in the darkness.

Gun in hand, he follows the sound with his unsteady body; trying to keep himself between it and Mac.

“Even with these odds, I don’t think you wanna test me, Asshat.”

No reply comes. The silence within the night sounds starts to ring with a shrill, persistent tone, then the chirping bugs disappear from the soundscape.

The weapon tumbles from his hand, suddenly too heavy to hold.

Fuck, again.

“M-Mac?” he cries out.

The abyss that had hidden in the shadows rose up and engulfed him and there was nothing.

oooo

Mac startles, suddenly alert, at the sound of another shot. It takes him a moment to gather his wits a little and by then Jack has moved and is calling out his anger to the sniper. He startles again as he hears Jack cry out his name and then a gentle thud that can only be Jack’s body hitting the wet leafy ground. 

Mac’s leg is throbbing, but he manages to slide himself to the edge of the hide, peering out. He can see Jack’s crumpled form on the ground, almost close enough to touch, but not quite. If he reaches out, he’d expose himself to the sniper, who has already shot each of them once. Jack isn’t moving, but he takes solace in the fact that he can make out his chest rising and falling. 

“MacGyyyyver . . . I know you’re in there,” comes the same creepy sing-song voice again. 

The sniper is clearly nearby now, somewhere off to their left from the sound of it, but hidden by the cover of the trees and bushes surrounding them. 

“Who are you?” Mac calls out, and he listens carefully to try to gauge the direction and distance of any answer that comes back. 

He’s already reaching into the bendy wet wood that they’d hastily shaped to make their shelter and he finds a perfect piece. He snakes his hand around in the damp ground until his hand lands on some smallish rocks. Crude slingshot ready, he tries again. 

“What do you want?” 

“I want to hunt and you’re both such pretty prey,” came the response. This time seemingly off to the right and now much closer. 

A twig snaps and Mac slides himself into position, ready to move. He blinks his tired eyes trying to make them focus and he takes aim.

The projectile barely misses their antagonist's head. His face in the shadows twists into an evil grin, "A feisty one. I chose the right prey."

He advances on his targets slowly trying to keep his movements erratic and unnoticed.

Mac looks around checking his right and his left frantically, hearing the noises coming from both directions. Mac felt something approach from behind. 

He stands midway between Mac and Jack, weapon of choice no longer a stealthy sniper's rifle, but a handgun. The silver glint off the barrel in the moonlight told Mac this guy was all about the dramatic flair.

Mac is looking at the barrel of the gun. It isn't an automatic weapon, but in the light of the moon from above, he notices it is a .38 revolver. He’s trying to calculate how many rounds he could dodge before the gun is emptied. But Mac can also see in the posture of the guy's body and the way he holds himself that it won't work. 

The guy's face is still hidden thanks to the dark of night and the angle that he’s had to position himself into. Mac sees a movement to his right, and he hopes and prays it wasn't one more gun-loving person after them. A minute later Jack comes into his line of vision, unsteady on his feet, yet conscious and standing and Mac has to make a decision. He decides to draw the guy’s attention to him enough to allow Jack to approach and take the guy out. 

But no such luck because a twig underneath Jack snaps when he moves and the guy turns around and points the gun at Jack. 

In hindsight Mac should have known that Mr. Precision and Drama would hear that. And Mac shouldn't do what he is about to do, yet, he raises himself slowly. The sharp pain is reactivated as Mac lunges at their attacker and tackles him to the ground. Jack will definitely lecture him after all of this has ended, but for them to survive, Mac's plan has to work. Which was basically "tackle the guy and get him off of Jack's path". 

The gun went off.

Jack crumples back to the ground. 

Mac braces himself for the agonizing pain, but nothing happens. In fact, there is no more struggle from the man he's tackled. Mac squirms and pushes his way out from underneath the almost still, limp body.

His hands are coated with warm blood by the time he scrambles free, but he doesn't think any of it, or at least not much of it, is his. He doesn't bother looking too closely at the body right now.  _ I killed him. Whether I meant to or not.  _ Mac knows that technically the guy's own gun killed him, but he still feels a twinge of guilt.  _ He was going to kill you, hoss.  _ Jack's voice echoing in his head reminds him that Jack is still currently on the ground.

He stumbles over to where Jack is lying, checking his pulse. It's slow but regular, like he's sleeping. Unconscious from a drug most likely. Mac frowns. His own wound feels less painful, and he isn't sure if that's because he's getting worse or better. Maybe the toxin on the bullet wasn't fatal.

At any rate, he still has a job to do. He kicks the gun away from the downed man's hand and tosses it into the weeds, just in case the guy actually wakes up. He gets a glimpse of the face as he does, cold and cruel. Reminding him a little too much of Murdoc. He shudders and fumbles a few of the longer branches from their shelter loose to make a drag sled to try and move Jack to safety. 

His fingers are numb, he hopes only from the chilly night, and it takes longer than it should, but finally he manages, with all of their belts and the strap from the mystery killer's rifle, to put something together he thinks will hold Jack's weight. He carefully rolls Jack onto it, checking his pulse once more, then grits his teeth, picks up the poles of the sled, and starts walking. One foot in front of the other.

Mac starts the long journey that will get them somewhere remotely safe so he can find something to help Jack and call Matty to arrange a new exfil. The current team probably left a long time ago. It’s thanks to the wilderness survival training and Harry's advice on how to get around in a big space like the woods that he took little Angus on camping trips to, that Mac knows where they are and how to move forward. He hasn't been so grateful for always studying the maps and the tiniest details on the plane that takes them to their next mission, as he was in that moment. If someone can get them out of this mess, it's Mac. 

Mac is currently dragging his legs one in front of the other (it feels like they are dragging more than the makeshift sled). After a while, he starts to feel the fatigue and the pain and he trips over a branch on the ground. He stumbles and the handles of the sled slip through his sweaty palms. He yelps as his knees hit the ground. He's had worse, but right now the leaves and twigs digging in his legs hurt so much more. Maybe it's the poison or drug or whatever the guy used to incapacitate them. But Mac isn't giving up. He will not give up until Jack is safe.

Mac breathes in and out a couple of times, then moves slowly and comes to Jack's side again. He checks for a pulse: still there, still erratic. Mac leaves his hand on Jack's neck, like Jack has done countless times with him. Mac knows that calms Jack, when he is able to tell Mac is alive and well. Safe. 

Tears try to get past his eyes and Mac wipes them before tucking his hair behind his ear. He shouldn't stay in one place for long. 

Right before he is about to move again there is a gentle hand circling his wrist. And although it's too dark, he can always tell when those whiskey brown eyes are open and looking at him.

oooo

They stumble forward, each holding the other steady. Jack is acting as a crutch for Mac’s throbbing leg. Mac is acting as a guide for Jack, as the drugs in his system regularly make the world shift and fritz and he stumbles here and there. It’s not fast, but it’s much faster than dragging Jack had been and Mac counts it as a win at this point that they are both standing, let alone walking. 

Mac’s not entirely sure where they are, but Jack’s absolutely certain they had moved steadily South as they’d run from their human hunter; ever the competent soldier, he’d used the compass in his watch, even as they’d made their escape. 

So, Mac now aims North, hoping to return to the relative safety of their vehicle and the hut that had been nearby. With a little ingenuity perhaps he can find a way to fix the busted radio or make a signal flare. At minimum the hut represents proper warmth and shelter while they figure out their next move. 

Just one foot then the other. 

Mac could cry with relief when they stumble into the familiar clearing. The vehicle is there, and the cabin, while dark, is a roof over their heads. Mac stumbles forward, then stops. The faint moonlight gleaming out from behind the ragged clouds shows something silvery stretched taut across the porch.

A tripwire. Mac feels like just collapsing on the ground. The whole place has probably been booby trapped. He doesn’t think he’s capable of disarming traps this sophisticated when he can barely stand.

Why can’t they ever catch a break? He turns to explain the situation to Jack, who’s leaning against a tree. “It looks like whoever was after us took the time to set up the cabin in case we came back. I can see at least one tripwire.”

He’s got to assume the car is rigged too. He needs the radio, though, if they want help. Maybe it’s only rigged to blow if it turns on or if a door closes. He’s just going to have to chance it. 

He ties his shoelaces to the door handle, then unlatches it and pulls, diving to the ground and covering his head. There’s no explosion, not even the sound of anything arming. Hopefully this trap was designed to trap them once they got into the vehicle. He leans over the seat to rip out the radio and hears the click.

Damn it. He activated something under the seat. Probably a pressure detonator.

“Mac?” Jack asks. It’s like he has a sixth sense for these things.

“I just turned on the bomb,” Mac says. “It’s probably under the seat. I can’t move to disarm it.” Even if he could. Which he’s not sure of at all.

He shakes his head as much as he dares when Jack stumbles up, leaning against the side of the car. “Get back. I said I can’t disarm it. I’m not even sure I can throw myself out of the blast area in time.”

“You go kaboom, I go kaboom, hoss.” Jack shakes his head. “You got your knife?”

Mac nods again. “Why?”

“I picked up a few tricks watching you be the slowest bomb nerd ever,” Jack says. “I promise I won’t touch it if it’s something complicated, but it’s probably just a land mine style one.”

He glances under the seat as he speaks.

“Oooh yeah, this is just like the mines Gramps had from Korea.” He sounds more intrigued than worried, and Mac wonders if it was as annoying when  _ he _ was the one disarming deadly things while Jack was on top of them. 

“I just have to jam the top of it down long enough to pull it out from under and throw it,” Jack adds. “Looks like I won’t even need your knife for this, unless you want me to lose another toothpick.”

“Well, that’s already gone, left it in a build last week,” Mac mumbles. He’s starting to feel lightheaded again.

“Okay, well, stick’ll work.” Jack says, grabbing one and presumably using it to jam the top of the mine down, before pulling it out and flinging it into the trees like a frisbee.

There’s nothing.

“Well, what do you know, a du…” 

A massive explosion sounds and Jack jumps. 

“Okay, I take that back.”

Mac shakes his head and reaches for the radio again. Now that they’re not being chased by a determined killer, he can focus on what he needs to do to get this operational and call in their location to Phoenix.

oooo

Jack has watched Mac work on less sleep than they should have normally gotten; the Sandbox and then DXS (now Phoenix) wasn't exactly the environment for them to have a regular sleeping schedule. Besides they were both plagued by nightmares most days and on a regular night without any missions of concerns Jack barely managed five hours of sleep. And knowing Mac, he was sleeping even less than Jack. It wasn't a surprise when he noticed Mac's hands shaking while he fiddled with the wires and frequencies. 

A sleepless night and a mission right after that ending up with them both injured, coupled with the blood loss and exhaustion, it was bound for it to happen sooner or later. And Jack knows it will get worse from here, Mac is usually the one to panic or spiral after it is all over, but he must have been shaken enough to let it show. The fear of kneeling on that bomb must have stirred something in him, something not even the adrenaline could delay. 

Jack groans when he moves to kneel in front of Mac, every part of his body aching.  _ God, he was really getting old. _ Mac's breath is coming in puffs that are forming visible clouds. The air is indeed getting colder and Jack only realizes it now, when he’s done being unconscious or walking. He pulls his trusty leather jacket closer to his body and places his hands on top of Mac's where he is trying and failing to switch the wires for the third time. 

Mac's hands are cold and trembling and he looks up at Jack with a haunted look and anger in his blue eyes. “Why can't I rewire this thing? I can do this in my sleep.” 

Suddenly Jack realizes that the anger Mac has is towards himself, for not being able to get it right on the first try. And Mac is slipping back to the kid Jack met in the Sandbox, the one that was too afraid of getting something wrong. Thinking he would be punished for it. 

Jack squeezes at Mac's hands reassuringly and smiles.

“Buddy, you’re shaking. Why don't you try and calm down first and then try again, hm?” 

“Every minute we are out here alone, we are sitting ducks, Jack.” 

“I know that. But you are the best at what you do. You'll figure it out. Just breathe, hoss.” 

It felt like it was hours, but in fact it’s only a few minutes later when the wire clicks into place and Mac has the right frequency. Once static crackles to life and a chatter is picked up from the other end, Jack is grinning. He knew his boy wonder could do this. They are gonna get out of this. Mac has done miracles out of worse situations than this. 

oooo

Mac grins and they bump fists as the radio buzzes to life with static. He navigates to the Phoenix’s most used SOS frequency and compresses the button to speak. 

“Mayday, mayday; this is Firebird 7 do you copy? We are in distress, requesting immediate ex-fill. Mayday, mayday, this is Firebird 7. Please respond.” 

As Mac releases the button, there are a few minutes of static, as Jack and Mac look at each other and then back to the radio. 

“Try it again,” Jack states, but just then the static buzzes and changes and a faint voice makes it through the static. 

“Hey blondie, glad to hear your voice. We weren’t sure where to start looking. I’ll have the team triangulate this signal.” 

Mac has never been happier to hear Matty’s voice. 

“Copy that. Good to hear you too. Firebird 7 standing by.” 

Mac let go of the radio for a moment, he was afraid that his grip on it could crackle it. Now that they called for exfil and the team was on its way, Mac's adrenaline started to abate and he was feeling the consequences. He could feel his heart wanting to beat its way out of his ribcage, the pounding in his ears too loud for the (for once) undisturbed night. His hands were trembling worse than earlier (a voice that sounded suspiciously like Jack's in his head supplied him with the word shaking). 

They were safe, at least Mac hopes so. Exfil was three hours out and since they couldn't go to the meeting point, their usual team was going to meet them there. 

Jack shifted against him and a minute later Mac heard snoring. He knows he should wake his partner, staying awake is important when head wounds and in this case concussion were involved. But after the ordeal they went through tonight and whatever it is that’s coursing through Jack's system right now, Jack deserves to get some rest. Mac could keep awake long enough.

But the thing was, Mac has trouble keeping his eyes open. Now that the adrenaline has left his system, it is harder for him to deny the requests of his body to just rest for a little while, that all will be okay. 

But he can't afford that. He can't afford to sleep, Jack can't for him to either. He relies on Jack to have his back 9 times out of 10. Well this was the 10th when Mac will do that for Jack. He is going to get him out and then they will go from there. 

Mac jerks awake and groans as the movement jars his injured leg. Jack is still asleep next to him, snoring, and the breaths puffing clouds in Mac's arm where Jack found comfort leaning his head. 

Mac has to do something. He has to stay awake. He is shivering harder now and despite the warmth of Jack's body next to his, it isn't enough to warm Mac through. 

Mac tries to busy his hands, get the feeling back in them, he can barely even make out the shape of the radio . . . he jerks his head again as his eyes close again. 

Mac debates with himself. He could go and take a walk. But he can't trust himself to be steady on his legs, especially since one of his legs is out of commission. There has to be something else. T _ hink, MacGyver. Think _ .

Suddenly a wild idea appears in Mac's brain. It’s crazy, but aren't they all? He's already done it before with Jack watching on the other side. He counts it as a blessing that Jack is asleep. He knows Jack is going to yell at him when he eventually sees the new injury. But it's either that or Mac falling asleep and he can't afford that. 

Mac carefully pulls his trusted SAK and tests his grip on it. He’s still weak but it will do. 

Without further ado he jams it in his uninjured thigh. He couldn't help the groan. Or the scream. It hurt so much it burned. Tears spring freely from his eyes and he has to take deep breaths to override the pain. 

There was the thought of Jack not even stirring when he screamed but the thought eluded him as soon as it appeared.

Warm blood trickles down his leg and probably stains the ground beneath where his thigh is resting on the cold dirt. Mac can't feel his butt from how long they’ve been sitting here, but he suspects the cold has something to do with it as well. He was aware of how hot and sticky the blood felt when he accidentally cut himself doing whatever he was doing at the time. He doesn’t touch the spot where he stabbed himself because he doesn't want to risk getting the wound more compromised (not that it was not compromised with his blade not disinfected and the length of it going through dirty denim). 

Mac takes a deep breath. The pain subsides and now he can think clearly. He tugs the radio closer to where he can reach it for when exfil is in the vicinity, in case Matty is able to contact them again. He’s about to laugh hysterically that a walk would be the least of his problems for a while. Shot in one leg, stabbed in the other, scrapes and bruises that are undoubtedly all over his body, probably dehydration because he tried to make sure Jack drank enough water and put his needs on the back burner. He reaches with his tongue to lick at his lips and it feels like sandpaper.

Mac suddenly feels like he is back in the Sandbox where his lips were permanently chapped no matter the weather. Mac fought hard to stay in the present, he didn't need to have a flashback and panic. Bad things happened when you panicked and let your mind run without your consent.

Without giving it too much thought, Mac reaches for Jack's hand and grips it harder than he could anticipate. He needs to ground himself. Jack is always safe. If Jack is here, no one's gonna hurt him. 

Mac searches for Jack’s wrist and finds it is the hand with the leather cuff. He apologized to Jack mentally before he unbuttons the cuff and reached trembling fingers to check for a pulse. He feels some things fall out of the cuff and belatedly realizes that they are paperclips. 

The little discovery stops Mac in his tracks and he stares at the little metal pieces and then picks them up in his hand. He carefully buttons the cuff again and rests Jack's hand on his leg, needing the comfort and reassurance in any form he can find it. 

Then he picks up the paperclips and starts twisting them into shapes. Suddenly waiting for ex fil doesn’t look so daunting. His adrenaline is spiked and now he has found a distraction. 

_ Thanks for your help, Jack. _

oooo

Mac is pulled from his thoughts by the distinctive sound of a helicopter landing in a clearing nearby. The noise is soon followed by the gentle thud of boots on the forest floor accompanied by the rustle of disturbed trees and the shouts of a Phoenix tactical team clearing the area. 

“We’re here,’ Mac calls. 

A flashlight beam lands on the two of them, propped up against the truck. 

“Mac, Jack. Hang tight, we've got you.”

Mac squeezes Jack's hand and allows the world to go black as their rescuers move in. 


End file.
